


The Center of the Universe II

by Syls Darkplace (sylsdarkplace)



Series: Center of the Universe [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylsdarkplace/pseuds/Syls%20Darkplace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s POV in Center of the Universe</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Center of the Universe II

There’s a pale wash of moonlight coming in the cabin window when Sam opens his eyes. It falls over the paint chipped window sill and across a ratty old armchair before creeping over the threadbare quilt beside him. It’s chilly in the room, but he isn’t. His body heat, combined with Dean’s, in the small bed is enough to make him comfortable. He knows from the angle of the moon that it’s late or early as the case might be. He takes Dean’s hand and places it over his heart, holds it there flat against his chest. He can feel his brother’s wakefulness where he lies pressed against Sam’s back.

It’s always been that way. Maybe it’s the thousands of nights they’ve spent mere inches from one another. Maybe it’s instinctive. Maybe it’s just the change in Dean’s breathing, but Sam would almost swear he can feel his brother thinking. It doesn’t matter how still Dean is. Sam knows. He wonders sometimes if he wakes up whenever Dean is awake like this. What he does know is that it isn’t Lucifer or nightmares that wake him up anymore.

It wasn’t always that way. He had nightmares as a kid. That might seem ironic. He didn’t know about monsters – not real ones anyway – but maybe he sensed them. Certainly, he knew fear. It permeated their lives with the way they moved around and the look in their dad’s eyes, the way he would occasionally crush them to his chest like something was trying to tear them away. And Dean. He saw the fear in Dean. Much as his big brother tried to deny it, much as he tried to let Sammy be a kid, Sam saw it.

And he dreamed. He dreamed of horrible things. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear them – their ragged breath and shuffling feet, their bellows and roars. He would run with Dean clutching his hand, dragging him along. _Come on, Sammy, come on, we’re almost there_. But he would stumble, fall, and Dean would stop and grab him, eyes wide at whatever was behind Sammy, whatever was about to … and Sam would awake, gasping for breath and crying, and Dean would hold him, shush him, pet his hair. _It’s okay, Sammy, just a dream._

But it wasn’t. He was horrified but somehow not surprised the night John stumbled in with Dean’s arm around his neck. It looked like a shadow at first, until the light hit it. Dean’s side was wet and dark with blood. Sure, he’d seen their dad come home with some nasty wounds. He didn’t remember how he rationalized that – drunken bar fight maybe – but this … no, he wasn’t really surprised. It was like an obvious truth had suddenly hit him. All the little pieces to the puzzle started falling into place. How could he have been so stupid? How could he not have figured this out? How could Dean have kept this from him?

“Get the kit,” John barked as he laid Dean down on their bed. Sam did, and John went to work on tending his eldest son’s wounds. He was completely focused on Dean, and Sam sat and shook, alone.

“You okay?” Sam whispers. His fingers ghost along Dean’s arm.

“Yeah,” Dean says and presses his lips to his Sam’s shoulder blade. “Yeah, fine.”

Sam doesn’t believe that and rolls in place to face his brother. He pulls Dean close. His thumb slots into a familiar scar on Dean’s lower ribs.

“Really? Because you’re thinking so loud, you woke me up,” Sam says. He smiles into the dark, hoping Dean can hear it in his voice because Dean doesn’t respond well to serious talks about his feelings.

“What are you going psychic again?” Dean grumbles.

“I know you.”

“Yeah.” Dean leans forward, tipping his head a little, and catches Sam’s bottom lip between his own.

He sucks on it before licking into Sam’s mouth, and Sam allows the distraction. Dean is better at action than words. He can say a lot with his mouth without uttering a word. Sam hears him. He gets it. Here they are.

It wasn’t always like that. He pulled away from Dean after that night, that bloody night that he realized he could lose Dean. He’d never felt alone before, not truly alone. Whatever else they didn’t have – a mom, a home, friends – they’d had each other. Sam suddenly understood that just as Dean had a gaping hole in him from losing his mom, their mom, Sam could have Dean torn from him. That place that Dean filled in him, that warm, safe, secure place that Sam called home could become a gaping hole. It was already starting. He could feel it, a crack inside him that let in cold, bitter wind. He could lose his world.

Maybe this wasn’t all conscious at first. No, it wasn’t. It was instinctive the urge to pull away, a defense mechanism, the need to protect himself from the very thing that gave him comfort. He and Dean weren’t one person. They were two. He never thought he’d be alone, but he realized that he was, and he hated his dad for it. Loved him but hated him for taking away the one constant he’d had.

He saw the hurt and confusion in Dean’s eyes. He wanted so badly to lean into that reassurance and safety that had always been there, but every time Dean reached out to him, he was afraid. He had believed that if nothing else he’d always have Dean, and it wasn’t true. And he thought that was John’s fault.

The dreams changed then. They were full of blood and screams – Dean’s screams – and he watched his brother die night after night. He’d awake with Dean’s arms around him, just like before, but the comfort was there only for a moment before he remembered. It isn’t okay, he wanted to argue, you’ll leave me.

And he did. The nightmares came true. Somehow it hurt more that leaving him was a choice that Dean made, a selfish choice that cut Sam to the bone. It was made all the harder by the nonchalance with which Dean treated it – a shrug and I can live with that. How could Dean not realize what he meant to Sam – that he was the center of Sam’s universe? Sure, Sam had to blame himself to some extent. He’d pulled away from Dean. He’d gone off to Stanford alone. But it wasn’t because Dean meant less to him. It was because he meant everything. He could live with Dean being alive out there somewhere, but he couldn’t watch him die. And now he would.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” Sam asks. The brush of Dean’s hair is soft against his cheek.

“Yeah,” Dean answers and presses his lips to Sam’s neck, sucks and rolls the skin bringing blood to the surface, marking him.

“Dean, stop it. I’m not some 16-year-old girl in the backseat of the Impala,” Sam says, but he’s not really complaining. He loves everything Dean does when they’re together this way.

“I don’t do teenage girls, Sammy.” Dean sounds both indignant and amused. “Anyway, you love it.”

“Hm, love you,” Sam says and catches Dean’s lips a little off center in the dark.

Sam went off the rails when the hell hounds dragged his brother away. He’d had a few brief months of having Dean back, really back – all of him, body and soul. He hadn’t planned it, but he’d watched Dean becoming more and more reckless on hunts and seeking refuge with any girl he could get to drop panties while Sam sat alone mourning a brother who wasn’t even dead yet.

That night, he’d heard the crash and saw the broken window, and no, no, the year wasn’t up yet. He had a few more months, and he was furious that Dean would risk that, would stupidly take that from him, from them. He’d wanted to pummel his brother all the way back to the motel. He was prepared to. Dean usually threw the first punch, but God damn it, Sam had bounced him off the wall. Of course, Dean had come back at him, but all Sam wanted right then was to crawl inside his brother’s skin, and the closest he could get at that moment was his mouth.

For a millisecond, Dean’s eyes went wide with surprise, and then his hand was fisted in Sam’s hair and his mouth crushed against Sam’s. It wasn’t enough. Sam wanted more. He wanted all of Dean. If he was going to have nothing soon, then tonight, he’d have everything – every touch he’d pulled away from, he wanted it now, right now. He wasn’t going to lose his brother. They’d figure something out. They’d get Dean out of the deal, but Dean had to know that he was everything to Sam. That never changed.

He couldn’t feel enough of his brother’s skin fast enough. He couldn’t even remember how their clothes had come off, but he knew their mouths barely parted the entire time. He was lost in the soft, wet heat of it. He knew why once Dean got this far with a girl he got all the way because Sam didn’t want it to end. He just wanted more and more. And he didn’t hesitate when he pulled Dean down onto the bed on top of him.

When Dean entered his body, Sam felt complete for the first time in years. He was where he belonged. This was different but so much the same, and he knew that Dean felt it too. They clung desperately to one another during those months. Sought out the shelter of each other’s mouths and bodies in frantic, almost silent desperation in darkened motel rooms, truck stop restrooms, the backseat of the Impala.

And then he was gone.  

“Dean?” Sam says.

“Don’t leave me, Sammy.”

“Not going anywhere.” Sam kisses his forehead.

“Lucifer …” Dean’s throat tightens, chokes off the words.

“Isn’t here. I told you. He isn’t here when you touch me, when we’re like this.”

Dean crowds against Sam, pressing his face into the curve of Sam’s neck. Sam cards his fingers through Dean’s hair and kisses the top of his head.

“Then we should just stay here like this,” Dean mumbles.

That’s so like Dean. “Just stay in bed forever?”

“We’ll get a hotel with room service.”

Wouldn’t that be awesome, Sam thinks. To stay in some nice hotel with room service and never be more than a few feet from each other. Some people dream of mansions or tropical beaches; all he and Dean need is a room upgrade. Sam laughs and tips his brother’s head up, kisses him. “Right. Whose names on the credit cards? Donald Trump? Oh, that’s right we’re off the grid.”

“Yeah, and it’s damn cold in here.”

Dean never fails to think of creature comforts first. It’s not that he isn’t tough; he’s just a hedonist. He likes to be warm, full of food, and sexually fulfilled. Sam can take care of a couple of those things right now.

“I can fix that,” he says as he slides his hand down to cup his brother’s ass.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely,” Sam says and licks into Dean’s mouth, and he feels Dean’s cock hardening, can imagine the flush spreading across his chest.

“Mm, I think you can,” Dean murmurs and dives back into his mouth. Sam’s slides his hand up his spine and cups the back of his head. The frantic, desperate sex hasn’t stopped, but that happens in the aftermath of close calls. It isn’t a daily occurrence. This is. They don’t have all the time in the world, but sometimes, especially in the hours before dawn, they act like they do. He tips Dean’s head sealing their lips together as he tugs on Dean’s tongue. He moans into Sam’s mouth, and Sam breaks the kiss, sucks on his brother’s lush top lip.

Dean’s body slides against his, and their cocks are caught between them, lying wedged next to each other. Sam doesn’t know if Dean still worries about the rightness or wrongness of their physical relationship, but he doesn’t. Not anymore. They’ve had nearly everything taken from them – they’ve even lost each other a couple of times – and this, they should get to have this, he figures. They’ve given their all for the world, their very lives, their sanity, and they should get to have each other.

Dean’s fingers are digging into his ribs, and Sam cups Dean’s ass and pulls them tighter against each other while Dean is pulling on him and twisting away. Sam realizes Dean is trying to roll them over and he lets him. He moves between Dean’s legs and kisses his neck, nips and kisses again. He pauses at Dean’s collar bone to suck a bruise onto his brother, rolling and sucking at the skin. Dean squirms in a very satisfying way.

Sam can barely hear it when Dean says, “Now who thinks he’s a teenager in the backseat?”

Sam chuckles. He can feel the tension building in his brother’s body. Dean’s thighs are gripping his hips, and his fingers are digging into Sam’s ribs. Sam’s teeth graze over a nipple, and he hears the breath catch in Dean’s throat. Dean is tugging on Sam’s hair, urging him lower, and having his hair pulled shouldn’t be a turn on, but it kind of is.

“Sam, Sam,” Dean pleads.

If he let Dean have his way they’d both be asleep within 15 minutes. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t have staying power or stamina.  “Have a little patience, Dean.”

“Nggh,” Dean moans as Sam’s moves lower. Dean’s cock leaves a trail of precum from Sam’s belly to his sternum. “Tryin’.”

Sam sucks the other nipple between his teeth, and Dean’s hips jerk in response. Dean’s nipples are so sensitive. At first, he’d been opposed to having them played with. Somehow it threatened his sense of manliness or some such crap, but when he realized how good it felt – Dean never turned his back on pleasure.

“Fuck, Sam, please.”

Sam reluctantly releases the nipple with a swirl of tongue and begins kissing his way lower.

“You’re killing me, man,” Dean says.

“Mm-hmm,” Sam murmurs. Just out of fun, he pokes his tongue into Dean’s navel. He puts his lips over it and sucks. Making Dean feel good is awesome, but it’s still Dean, his brother, and sometimes winding him up a little is fun too.

“Dude, come on,” Dean complains.

Sam laughs. “Jerk.”

Dean strokes Sam’s hair. “Bitch,” responds automatically, but Sam can barely hear it. It’s a breath, a sigh, and Sam loves taking Dean to that place where he forgets everything and just is, lost in the moment, the sensations Sam is creating in him, in them together.

Sam figures he teased Dean long enough, and without preliminaries he takes his brother’s hard, drooling cock and sucks it into his throat.

“Fuck,” Dean blurts out.

Sam doesn’t mess around. He knows what Dean likes, and he does it. He moves his hand to the base of Dean’s cock and strokes low while suckling the head, teasing the slit with his tongue. Dean’s hips are rolling, and he can work with that. He doesn’t try to stop the movement. He lets Dean set the rhythm as he applies suction, drinking down every spurt of precum. His own cock is throbbing, almost painful. He’s just about to reach for it when Dean freezes and slams his palms on the bed.

 “No, stop,” he says.

Startled, Sam pulls off his cock. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Want you in me,” Dean gasps.

Sam’s cock jerks, and he smiles. Dean is such a whore, he thinks. He’s a little envious of the way his brother has always embraced his sexuality – even them, this, Dean was okay with in a way that surprised Sam. “Yeah, yeah, need the lube.”

“Right there,” Dean says and gropes for the nightstand. Sam slaps his hand away and kneels to squeeze some onto his hand and slick his cock. Then he’s back, pushing Dean’s legs up over his shoulders and his knees under him as he presses the head of his dick against  brother’s opening. He knows he doesn’t have to work Dean open. He can handle it. They both can. It’s not like they’re virgins for Christ’s sake.

Sam pushes into Dean’s body, and he feels Dean’s hips lift slightly, offering more, urging him deeper, and he’s solid, real under Sam’s hands. Something breaks loose in Sam’s chest, something hot and heavy, he drops his head, overwhelmed with gratitude that they are alive, together. There were times he thought he’d lost Dean, not just to hell, but by his own actions, and there were times that he didn’t think he deserved Dean’s trust again. But here they are, and Sam is so fucking grateful.

He pushes all the way in, pauses, and he looks up. He leans over Dean then, hands bracketing Dean’s head, as he begins to move. Dean throws his head back, and Sam thinks he understands. If what Dean feels inside is anything like what he is feeling, neither of them will last long. Dean grips him, tight and hot, and every movement, every inch is pushing him to the edge and away from the cage. This is real. Dean is real.

Sam leans down to kiss Dean – sloppy and hard. He feels Dean move his hand between them and begin to stroke himself. He starts to shake under Sam, and he’s making little grunts under his breath that wind Sam up even more because he’s doing this, he’s making Dean forget everything – all the losses and failures and guilt. All that’s important is right here, right now, them.

He plunges into Dean’s body again and again. Dean’s hips are rising to meet him on every thrust. Sweat is trickling down Sam’s back, making his hair cling to the back of his neck. Dean damn well better be warm by now. He knows his brother is close to the edge – knows by the gasps and gripping hands, and harsh breathing.  Sam’s balls draw up. There’s so much tension in his gut, he feels like he could fly apart if it lets go.

“Dean, Dean,” he gasps.

He doesn’t hear the answer because there’s a loud buzzing in his head when Dean’s muscles clench around his cock and Sam’s body locks up, pushes him tight against Dean’s ass. A grunt is punched from his lungs as electricity sizzles through him, up his spine and out his cock into Dean. He feels it, his own slick surrounding his dick, filling his brother. Fuck, holy fuck.

He ruts against his Dean’s ass before moving his arms and letting Dean drop his legs around his waist. Sam rests against the broad, solid chest and nuzzles his neck before putting his head on his brother’s shoulder. Dean’s arms slide around him like a thousand times before. He hears Dean’s heart beating, feels each rise and fall of his chest.

This is where they belong. Dean was right all those years ago. They are each others weakness, each others Achilles’ heal, but they’re also each others strength. They are stronger together than apart. The truth is, Sam thinks, they can’t function when they’re apart. Sam thinks he was wrong. They aren’t separate people really or they are, literally, but they have a mutually symbiotic relationship. Sometimes Sam wishes he could turn off his brain, like now, lying here warm and content … mutually symbiotic, he smiles, Dean would roll his eyes or make a remark about Sam’s big brain if he said it out loud.

There was a time when he took Dean’s jabs about his big brain as criticism, not anymore. He knew it was something Dean admired about him. There was a time when Sam took Dean for granted, and maybe that was natural. He was just a kid. Not anymore. Not for a long time. Dean is brave and self-sacrificing and stalwart. Dean has been his everything – brother, sure, but also surrogate mother, teacher, friend, lover. He’s gave Sam everything, even his life, and much as it hurt at the time, Sam understood now. He did the same for Dean, would do it again in heart beat.

Dean is still everything, and he still keeps the monsters at bay.  
   
The End.

 _Thank you for reading. I would love to hear from you._  
 


End file.
